


packing up the pieces of you

by Captain_Custos



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst, Family Feels, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Other, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Pining, Post-Episode: s02e34-35 Juno Steel and the Soul of the People
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 15:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18574276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Custos/pseuds/Captain_Custos
Summary: Juno is packing his bag to leave Mars for the first time, but its not the first time he’s ever packed(Where Juno walks down memory lane while trying to decide which pieces of his old life he should bring with him when he takes to the stars for the first time)





	packing up the pieces of you

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I sort of threw this together in one night while a wee bit sleep deprived, so I hope its not a flaming pile of sewage. Hope y’all like
> 
> Suggested listening 
> 
> \- Lost by Dermot Kennedy   
> \- The End by Pearl Jam  
> \- Friend of Ours by Elbow  
> \- My Old Friend by Sam Amidon

Juno has packed a bag more times than you would think for a lady who’d never left Hyperion city outside of a kidnapping before.

The first time had been before he could remember, in the hazy tense days after Sarah Steel lost her job, lost her house, and then promptly lost her mind. Getting ready to leave their beautiful sunny home for the scuzzy little 2 bedroom dump in Oldtown, he doesn’t remember much about packing that bag. Mom had barred herself in her office with the last of the booze, so Juno and Benzaiten had had to figure it out together. He’d spent most of that week making sure Benten remembered to pack enough socks. He does remember though that his collectors edition Turbo’s ended up in the trash, not his suitcase.

The second bag he’d packed had been the one he’d regretted most. 18 years old, just accepted into the HCPD academy, and determined that he would never have to live with Sarah Steel again. He packed the afternoon he received his acceptance letter, Ben sitting on the mattress across from him eating a lollipop. Unpacking the next day, he’d found one of Ben’s sweaters stuffed into the end pocket, and he’s 98% sure he was not the one who put it there. It was fuzzy, deep navy and silver, the one he always wore after dance practice. On Ben’s elegant frame it had hung like slash of night sky. On Juno it was a bit of a tight fit on his shoulders and around his arms - despite being born identical, years of scrappy brawling and stretches at the ballet bar had pulled the Steel twins bodies into very different shapes.

But the fabric smelled like Ben, and that was the point. When he’d put it on that night to sleep in, it felt like having his brother there, hold his hand, telling him to breathe. He bought him a new one to replace it for Christmas out of his first paycheck, this time in green and gold. 6 months later he was using it to apply fruitlessly pressure to the leaking wound in his corpse.

He regretted packing the second bag.

The third was the one he likes to think about the least though. Shoving a tooth brush and his threadbare blouses into a duffle in the dead of night while Diamond was passed out on the sofa. A fresh bruise had been blooming over his eye, and in the dark he could barely pick out his clothes from theirs. The next morning, sitting on Rita’s sofa with a mug of mostly whisky spiked coffee, he cried when he realised he’d left the sweater behind.

2 weeks later Diamond was shot dead after double crossing the wrong dealer, and now the sweater hangs next to the wedding dress he still doesn’t know what to do with.

He could sell it for a few creds maybe. He might be needing some creds pretty damn soon, he thought to himself, staring at the still empty suitcase on his bed.

This is the 4th time packing, so you’d think it’s be easy. But never let it be said that Juno Steel isn’t fantastic at turning a simple task into an existential crisis. Which is probably why he’d left it till an hour before they were due to meet with the Big Guy.

A million questions were coursing through his head. Should he be bringing his normal clothes, or will Buddy think he looks too much like a cop? Maybe his nice clothes, the few he has, so he fits with Buddy’s ‘femme fatale’ look. But they won’t be very practical if the get into a scrap. Something more aggressive, more utilitarian, like Vespa had had? Maybe he should stop thinking like himself. Say he could come up with another version of himself. Not an ex PI and recovering drunk, but a sharp, free spirited planet hopper. Pack like he’s that lady instead. That’s what Nureyev would have done.

Really though the clothes are the least of his worries. Clothes can be bought and replaced, he doesn’t care about most of the patched up sweaters, stained dress, and threadbare trousers in his closet. But there are some things that matter. Some things that mean more.

So instead of starting with the mass of dull that is his actual wardrobe, he goes for the things he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving behind. Check them off the list first, his Juno Steel essentials, and maybe the rest of who he’s going to be once he leaves this rotten planet will fall into place.

Ben’s sweater goes in first. Still soft and glittering after all these years, though its a bit stretched out now, and it smells like him, not Ben. If he hold it to his face though, and closes his eyes, he can still see Ben sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a coffee and humming showtunes as he maps out dance steps with his fingers. It’s right that Ben is the first piece of Juno that he’ll take with him.

Moving on, he leaves the wedding dress where it is. There’ll be no need for it soaring through the stars, and besides, every time he so much as brushes his fingers over the lace and beads he can feel Diamonds breath in his ear, their fingers curled round his wrists. It’s less of a dress than a reminder of what it felt like to be a trapped little bird in a cage. New Juno Steel won’t take that with him, he won’t be that lady again. The dress can stay here and turn to dust for all he cares.

His coat he’s taking of course. Not in the suitcase either, he’ll be wearing it like armour. His special Rita shaped armour. She’d never admitted to it, but he’s sure that’s whoit came from. One morning, his first few months as a PI, he’d dragged himself into the office and found it sitting folded neatly on his chair. Crisp olive green, insulated in all the right spots, and reinforced in others, it must have cost a small fortune. Rita had stuck her head round the door a minute after he arrived and made a fuss about how he looked like an ' _old school PI from her streams, and how did he manage to afford such a thing, and if you’re gonna be buying yourself a coat like that Boss then a girl could use a raise y’know'._ But there’d been that wet sparkle in her eye that he saw right through as she said all this, a glimmer of pride. It was the look she always had when he let her do something nice for him. Even if he was taking Rita, he’d be damned if he left that coat behind.

His HCPD badge went in next. Kind of stupid maybe, but it could come in handy perhaps, and he’d worked hard to earn it, even if it did turn out to be worthless. He shoved it into his wash bag along with his clippers and his lipsticks. A couple of Mick Mercury original shades were still rattling around in there from his brief stint as a cosmetology student, and Juno never had the heart to chuck them out. Never in a million years would he wear them - knowing Mick they’d probably melt his lips off - but he’d never forget how excited Mick was to give them to him. It was only when he got home that he seen they’d each been given names. _Berry Wired_ for a deep plum shade, _Mercury Madhouse_ for the glittery white, and two brilliant greens called _Super Steel_ and _10 Out of Ben_. He’d laughed so hard he cried. Or possibly the other way round.

He was about to take out the useless lipsticks when it struck him suddenly, he didn’t know when he was going to be seeing Mick again. For all he knew, this little adventure could be over in a month or two, and he’d be back before Mick even noticed he was gone. But maybe not. It could be longer. He hardly had a plan. Could it be years? Could it be forever? The lipsticks stayed in the wash bag. He couldn’t leave all of Mick behind, even if he was the new Juno.

Then was his stack of eye patches, rescued from his bedside table. The collection was a more recent acquisition, slowly having accumulated in the few months since he’d had the Theia out. Mostly uniform blacks, but there was one that he’d receive by literal courier on his birthday that was perhaps more ‘formal wear’, which could come in handy. Purple velvet and dark metal filagree that twisted to fit so perfectly on his face it seemed it must have been custom cast, though he’d never sat for the process. The card inside the gift box had simply read; _’for your recent development - S.W’._

He packed it all in tight, filling the rest of the cavity of the suitcase with his jumbled assortment of clothes, not overly picky about folding them neatly, just tearing sweaters and blouses from hangers until he was simply grabbing and pulling automatically. Once his hands were grasping at nothing though, he looked back at his progress. It was a bit underwhelming really, not even enough to fill the case to the brim, even once he’d thrown in his sewing kit and his favourite coffee mug. Looking around his apartment at the stained furniture, the stacks of paperwork, the dead house plants, and the flickering TV, it all felt a little sad.

He’d been here for nearly 15 years, and on this planet for nearly 40, and all he had to keep of himself fit inside a small wheely case.

With a heavy sigh he finished zipping up the case, testing its weight in his hand, before setting it on the ground. There was only 30 minutes left before he had to go meet Rita, so really the time for contemplative reflection was well over and done with. He shrugged on his coat, made his bed, and turned of the flickering stream. His rent was paid up for the next while, and really if his landlord wanted go throw any of this crap out they were more than welcome. Anything he wanted was either locked in Rita’s possibly not legal long-term storage, or sitting in the case at his feet. Well all apart from one thing.

As he made his way to the front door he stopped at his desk. Taking out a small pocket knife, he jiggled it into a loose wooden strut on the side till it was loose enough for him to slip out his prize. A small strip of paper that he’d tucked there months ago while sorting through his nightmares at the bottom of a bottle and dreaming of a figure lit up by moonlight lying in silky hotel sheets. It was such a tiny thing, for it to mater so much, a scrap of paper with little more than parting words, and an oh so precious name. Maybe not something he should be saddling New Juno with, but who was he kidding. Not even leaving the paper behind would scrub all the memory of that curled handwritting, that smoky scent, that stretch of pale pale skin. Better to admit defeat in the face of inevitable regret. He folded the paper neatly, tucking it into the inside pocket of his coat before turning off the lights to leave. As the switch flicked off, he heard the sharp crackle and pop of a bulb blowing, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care. After all, this place wasn’t his problem anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> This was origonally meant to be like a 600 word 3 + 1 but it got....out of hand. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
